Chapter V, Part I: On Mormons

I am not a dull man and do not give in to the doldrums of everyday life very easily. For some reason, interesting things tend to find me wherever or whenever I may be. Or vice versa. Last week, for instance, it seems that one of the gods heard my plea for salvation from boredom. And it just so happened to be the god of Joseph Smith. Because last week, I had an encounter with ...

THE MORMONS!

Though I love South Park, they have ruined the simplicity in so many mundane things. For instance, when you hear Mormons or Joseph Smith, you might think Jesus in America, polygamy or Utah. But when I hear these words, I can't but help sing the song from the South Park episode on Mormons that goes like: -

"Joseph Smith was called a prophet, dum dum dum dum dum.
He founded the Mormons' religion, dum dum dum dum dum."

Now as everyone knows (or would agree), there are different types of white people in foreign lands. First you have your smelly dirty hippies who want to get along with everyone and pathetically tell you they've integrated themselves into the foreign society. Then you have your touristy, slightly better-looking whities who're dressed like hippies so as not to draw attention to themselves. But really, they're your typical everyday internet-addicted, confused, spiritual-but-not-religious liberal whities. And finally, you have the well-off and more grounded white people who are borderline racist and can't wait to get back to their apartments and consumerist lifestyle. As I found out, Mormons are unlike any of these. They are as alien to foreign lands as they are back home. Interestingly, though they are white, their features resemble those of the Aryan Pakthuns and give off an aura of, well, a lost people within an alien civilization.

So anyways, our encounter was not deliberate, but certainly instigated by our mutual curiosity. I was standing outside my office when these two white guys in white shirts, black pants, geeky ties and small bagpacks hanging loosely behind them walked by. I assumed that they would assume that I was a Guatemalan and just walk on. But lo, they did look upon me, smiled and said, "Buenos dias", to which I doth replied, "Hi! Hey, art thou Mormons?"

And behold, they stopped in their tracks, astonished that their language had been spoken by one who resembled the others.

"We are the people of the Latter Day Saints, yay! Who art thou, stranger? And wherefore upon this most holy of lands did you learn that which is spoken in the good state of Utah, amen?"

Verily, my curiosity thus did ariseth and I continued to inquire. "Indeed, thou art the people of Joseph Smith. I am called Umair, of the tribe of the Syeds from a distant and warm land of afar. Come thou to Guatemala to preach thine religion of Mormonism?"

"We have indeed, verily, yay!", they replied.

Ok, this is exhausting. In my head, that is exactly how our conversation went down, especially because of the things we spoke of and the sheer adamant tone they had for their faith. These introductions went on for a while and we eventually found ourselves taking a walk (yes, I know I said I was at work but I barely ever do anything and nobody really cares if I disappear days on end, let alone for an hour). The two had to get back to their church and I wanted to know where it was and if it was any different from the other shabby and unkempt churches across Coban. Shockingly, it was by far the most out-of-place edifice I have ever seen in Coban. But more about that later.

Chapter V, Part II: On Mormons

My companions were eager to know what a Pakistani was doing in Guatemala and about my religion. As any barely practicing muslim, I knew the basics, had the things-to-say-to-white-people speech on Islam down perfectly and the Mormons were in awe (of course!). Then came my turn to ask them about Mormonism, Joseph Smith and all that I had learned from South Park.

"So tell me," I began. "Do you guys really believe that Jesus came to the Americas after his ... umm, death? First disappearance before the second coming? I'm sorry, how do you say it?"

"Ha ha. Verily, thou art funny, yay. But nay, Umair of the Syeds, we believe that upon his crucifixion, our Lord resurrected somewhere upon the plains of Mexico or Guatemala. I mean, ha ha, it is not as if he took a boat and came here. That would be absurd and ridiculous, especially at that time."

"No, you're right. Resurrection makes a lot more sense." I managed to blind them from my cynicism and sarcasm, but have no idea how I maintained a straight face. "So just to make this clear for me, let me summarize what I know about your church: Jesus gets resurrected in Central America, brings christianity to the natives here, gets betrayed for the second time and goes away ... again. And Joseph Smith finds these two stones, puts them in a hat, translates them into the Book of Mormons and the Latter-Day Saints are born."

"Well, yes, more or less. But there is so much more to it. You see ..." They went on about the goodness of their religion and all that it had done for them and how I, like one other they knew, was very curious and very smart and upon joining them, he believed as well. They also told me about the mention of Jesus as Quetzalquatl in the Mayan's holy book; a strange white man with from beyond their world came to them wearing Quetzal feathers on his head and promised he would return; which is also why the Mayans greeted the Spaniards with arms wide upon, thinking they belonged to Quetzalquatl (this is actually true; I have met several archaeologists here and all of them have told me how this story is what has attracted so many Mormons to archaeology in Guatemala and the country itself). Their tone and gestures were very welcoming and sincere and, honestly, in spite of their beliefs, I kinda liked them (I respect their beliefs, yes, but I am a cynic and mockery is often necessary).

Chapter V, Part III: On Mormons

But then I came to the most interesting part of the discussion: the story of the wife of Harris the publisher. Short summary: Martin Harris was a fairly rich guy who believed JS was a prophet and agreed to print the Book of Mormons for him. Now JS puts these two stones in a hat, sticks his head in and starts reading the book out to him, chapter by chapter, word by word. They completed it within a week or something. Harris takes the manuscript to his wife, Lucy, the skeptic, who says, "Tell him you've lost it and that he should write it again. We'll keep the old version and if it matches with the new version, then he's telling the truth." But upon hearing about the loss of the original manuscript, JS gets pissed, goes to his attic to pray and comes back and says the Lord has spoken to him and commanded him to write a new book of Mormons, thus giving the incident the name "the lost book of Mormons".

When I asked them about this, naturally, their expressions had changed. I honestly did not think it was possible, but they were no longer smiling. I don't know how they do it but Mormons don't ever stop smiling (except when this story is told, apparently).

"We, uh, we have not heard of this story. There is indeed the story of the lost chapters of the book, but this?" They both looked at each other for a moment, their expressions almost hinting fear ... and I didn't understand that.

Btw, I can't believe I forgot to tell you about this but here's a brief about my two Mormon companions. The older one had a name tag bearing 'Elder Karr' and the younger one's name tag was ... actually, I don't remember. We'll just call him Younger Karr. Together, the two walked around like a very wrong Laurel and Hardy pair. Elder was about 25, had been with the church for 15 years, originally from New Jersey and had been taught Spanish by a Palestinian Guatemalan in the capital (thus, I was, unfortunately, not the first muslim he had ever seen, but certainly the first Pakistani ... which was also shocking; there are at least a thousand of us in every major American city [Right, Maria?]). And Younger was ... younger (though more interesting looking, I can't seem to remember any details about him). Born and raised into Mormonism in Salt Lake City, the younger looked like a mix between an Uzbekistani-Chinese and a Mexican-Dutch; he had pale skin, a small stature, black hair and eyes that, during their growth, couldn't decide whether they wanted to be chinese, caucasian or central european and just ended up bulging and shrinking simultaneously, resulting in two swollen golfballs. I normally tend to remember people better if I've had eye contact conversations with them, and since it was difficult to look at his eyes without squinting, that's probably why I don't remember anything about him.

Anyways, I spared them from their disturbed expressions and cheered them up by saying something like, "Hey, look, I heard about this story somewhere and it's probably not even true. Besides, the only problem with your faith is that people doubt you and look at you with strange looks. The problem with my faith is that people don't understand us and look at us like we're gonna blow up any second." Like normal white people, for a change, they didn't get the joke (or thought it wasn't funny) but forced a smile and managed to get their minds off of the story that their religion tended to turn away from.

We eventually got to their church, and folks, as cynical as I was, I started thinking that if this is the kind of money Mormons are pumping into their church, then sign me up right now. The church was not a church, it was a giant community center with a large basketball court, a Victorian-style main building (which was the church) built entirely from materials imported from the US, a large parking spot, a cafeteria so clean it'd put the Swedes to shame and gardens all over the place. If they changed the "Iglesia de los Santos de Últimos Dias" to "Oxford University - Guatemala campus", I honestly would've believed them. Not surprisingly, the entire place was fortified with large cage-like fences and a stern gate. When I asked them if this was the central Coban church, they laughed their borderline fake laugh and said, "Ha ha. Oh no, this is but the secondary church, yay. Verily, the main one is in another part of the city." And yes, that other one is almost twice as large as this one.

They invited me inside and I reluctantly refused, but promised to return some other day. We exchanged numbers, I pulled out a cigarette as I walked away (to which they gave an almost envious look) and waved them goodbye. As I walked away, I reflected on yet another encounter of the second kind: I had met the Morons!